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' The 



Bamstorme/s 
Companion,.** 



^ 



By 
M. F. CAREY 



The Barnstormer's 
Companion 



Being a Little Book of Ballads Designed 
for Recitation 



By M. F. Carey 



THE KNICKERBOCKER MUSIC CO. 
ALBANY, N, Y. 



Gfn;.-o ef the 
JReglsttir ui C 



■^ O H^ O O 



Copyrighted 1899, by M. F. Carby 



SECOWD COPY, 



PRESS OF 

BRANDOV/ PRINTING CO. 

ALBANY, N. Y. 

22742 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Sweeney, the Tragedian, 5 

Hurley, the Hypnotizer, 10 

The Reubens, . 15 

Haley, the XLV-Player, 18 

"Those Old Irish Airs," 22 

Maguire, the Speculator, 26 

"The Dewey Boy," 35 

Everybody, but Casey, 43 

The Great Security, 46 

Willful Willie, 49 

Murphy and the Minuet, 55 

The Pageville Band, 58 

Typo McSetters, 60 

To a Tin Can, 61 

Valedictory 62 



SWEENEY, THE TRAGEDIAN 



I shall tell of what happened to Sweeney, 
Of a scene that was witnessed by me; 

I shall tell you the story of Sweeney, 

A disciple of Booth and Salvini, 
A tragedian striving to be. 

With regret, I shall tell 

Of the wreck that befell 

His bark on the Thespian Sea. 

For it ever was Sweeney's ambition 

To shine on the tragedy stage : 
He was firmly convinced of his mission 
To act, and to please, in addition; 
And he sighed o'er the drama's position, 

And the barbarous mood of the age. 
Which excluded the grave to perdition. 

While the gay might its leisure engage. 
For the popular taste 
Will to comedy haste, 

Though the prophets of tragedy rage. 



6 The Barnstormer s Companion 

'Twas for Sweeney to lead, not to follow, 
To stand like a man, not to stoop; 

I encouraged him (friendship is hollow!) 

To insist that the public must swallow 
His brew of Shakesperian soup. 

I acknowledge with shame 

I was somewhat to blame 

For his troubles — which came in a group. 

Shall I ever forget the occasion! 

'Twas a local variety show; 
To impart to it marked variation, 
Its promoters, by honeyed persuasion. 

Got Sweeney — well — not to say no. 
'Twas for charity's sake, 
And a part he must take, 

Though his dignity suffer a blow. 
And so Sweeney was billed 
With the music-hall guild — 

With the cheap, the uncultured, the low. 

He had chosen a scene from Othello, 
For his favorite part was the Moor, 
lago was played by a fellow 



Sweeney, the Tragedian 

Whose acting, in color, was yellow, — 

One conceiving " to speak" as " to bellow" — 

There are others, of course, — to be sure. 
Yes, lago was bad; 
And the star? Well, 'twas sad 

His support should be so insecure. 
The tragedians made their appearance 

In a welcoming burst of applause; 
For both had their friends and adherents 
Who were ready to give them a clearance, 

While others considered the cause. 
But the gallery god 
Did not deign to applaud. 

Which I noticed — 'twas one of the straws. 



And I saw when the dialogue started, 

That the cherubs who sat up aloft 
Gave a hearing, at best, but half-hearted; 
Then, grew restless and bored; then, imparted 

Their desire for a change. How they scoffed! 
It was, " Sweeney, you're bum! " 
And "Choke off!" and "Come, come!" 

While the milder ones shuffled and coughed. 



8 The Barnstormer's Companion 

Though the pit glared aloft indignation, 
The unfeeling ones could not be checked: 

With Othello's farewell, the oration 

Indicating the scene's termination, 

I thought Sweeney would never connect; 

But he did (on my word!) 

And then something occurred 

Which I certainly did not expect. 

For (as I may be sworn) when Othello 

To promiscuous things said good-b)'^e, 
A tomato (not one hard and yellow, 
But a red one, large, fruity and mellow) 
Was thrown by some villianous fellow, 

And it broke over Sweeney's right eye! 
I would fain draw a screen 
O'er the rest of the scene, — 

I am tempted to sit down and cry 
When I think of the same, 
With the pit yelling shame, 

And the jeers of the vultures on high. 

'Twas in vain then that Sweeney contended 
He could lick any man in the place, 



Sweeney^ the Tragedian 

For the merciful curtain descended 
Between him and us, and thus ended 

This chapter of human disgrace. 
I shall never forget — 
I can see Sweeney yet, 

The tomato, like blood, on his face! 
And I feel, when I think 
To what depths men will sink, 

That the brutes are a worthier race. 



^ 



The Barnstormer' s Companion 
HURLEY, THE HYPNOTIZER 



When Charley Hurley whipped McGraw, the 
champion of Troy. 

There swept across "the Bay" an overwhelming 
wave of joy. 

Those who had doubted his success were then 
heard to declare 

That Charley had improved and was a fighter now 
" for fair; " 

While those who always backed him were so lav- 
ish in their praise 

As to say that he could beat the world, and would 
"one of these days." 

No wonder Charley's cranium began to broaden 
out; 

No wonder, when his backers then arranged a pri- 
vate bout 

With a nigger from Schenectady, his confidence 
was such 

That when I met him on the street, and he my 
hand did clutch, 



Hurley, the Hypnotizer ii 

And we went in to lubricate in Hennessey's saloon, 
He whispered, ' ' Cul, come down an' see me polish 
ofFde coon!" 

I was present at the bouts where he had taken his 

degrees; 
I felt that he could whip his dark antagonist with 

ease; 
But I didn't like the notion of his fighting with a 

black — 
I said it was undignified, but Hurley answered 

back : 
" Dere's a hundred plunkers in it, an' it's just like 

findin' ! — See? 
De boys has got der dough up, an' of course dey 

look to me! 
I never knew before, for sure, dat money was so 

cheap! — 
It's a pipe! — Come down an' watch me while I put 

de coon to sleep!'' 

I saw that Hurley's thoughts on certain victory 
were fixed; 



12 The Barnstormer's Companion 

His confidence grew greater with each basin of 

the mixed, 
For a heavyweight in training, as he was thought 

to be, 
I couldn't see much harm in his imbibing two or 

three; 
But when I saw him empty six, at once I cried a 

halt, 
Declaring, if his friends were thrown, that he would 

be at fault. 
He stopped — "Excuse me, boys," said he; "I 

might wade in too deep! 
S'long! — Come down and see me when I rock de 

coon to sleep!" 



And we all did go to see him — we were present on 
the night 

When Hurley fought in Brady's barn that memor- 
able fight; 

And, though we had our dollars up at odds of one 
to three — 

Didn't Hurley tell us all, " it was like findin' 
money — see?" 



Hurley, the Hypnotizer 13 

Ah! Clearly do I recollect when both stepped in 
the ring, 

How Hurley, in an undertone, a lullaby did sing! 

How he winked at us and smiled a smile of satis- 
faction deep, 

And whispered, " In de second round, I'll push 
' his corks' to sleep! " 



But alas! — how can I tell it? — when the second 

round was o'er, 
The nigger's soles were still quite horizontal with 

the floor; 
And when the third, and fourth, and fifth, and 

sixth were fought away, 
His soles still touched — quite far from perpen- 
dicular were they! 
And when the awful seventh came, and he got in 

that blow 
That blew our money high, sky high, and laid our 

Hurley low — 
Good heavens! when I think of it, it almost makes 

me weep! 
The nigger standing up — awake! and Hurley — 

down — asleep! ! ! 



14 The Barnstormer' s Companion 

And shall I e'er forget the scene when Hurley's 

wits came back? 
When his seconds told him he was whipped? — I 

thought his heart would crack! 
He blubbered like an infant — tears came rolling 

down his cheek. 
'Twas quite a while 'ere he could summon up the 

voice to speak — 
"Say, fellers, am I licked?" said he; "did the 

coon put me to sleep?" 
Indeed, he did that, Hurley, and 'tis well for you 

to weep. 
For **the Bay" is now in mourning, with its chat- 
tels all in pawn; 
While the hypnotizing influence of Hurley's dukes 

is gone! 



The Reubens 15 



THE REUBENS 



Set the laugh in circulation, 

For the Reubens are in town. 
On the pan of conversation, 

Let us roast them good and brown. 
To the wrinkles in their clothes 
Where the seeds of hay repose, 
Let us first direct attention: this convicts them for 

it shows 
An addiction to suburban, — agricultural pursuits. 
And, of course, they wear their trousers tucked 

within their muddy boots. 
And, their hats — for generations, 

They were surely handed down! 
Let us make our observations, 

For the Reubens are in town. 

If their clothes do not betray them, 

Or their faces rough and brown; 
There are other ways to weigh them, 

When the Reubens come to town: 



1 6 The Barnstormer's Companion 

Just you listen to them talk, 

And observe them gape and gawk 

As they stare the lofty buildings; then just notice 

how they walk : — 
You can always tell the Reubens by the way they 

sling their feet; 
Over these important members their control is not 

complete. 
Watch the way they lift their gaiters, 
And the way they slam them down, 
As if stepping o'er **pertaters" — 
When the Reubens come to town. 



What a harvest we may gather, 
When the Reuben comes to town! 

Is he easy? Well, now — rather! 
Just a push will throw him down. 

Yes, the Reuben's wits are thick, 

While we city chaps are slick: 

With a satchel full of sawdust, or a golden-var- 
nished brick, 

We can start negotiations and induce him to 
invest. 



The Reubens 17 

It is thus we do the Reuben, and — the Reuben 

does the rest. 
Though on these and like offenses, 

The stern moralist may frown, 
Yet; we've got to pay expenses 

When the Reubens come to town. 



'Tis the city chap's conception 

Of the Rube that I set down; 
There are Rubes of this description, 

And they sometimes come to town. 
But — it's funny — when you read 
Of the fellows who succeed, 
You will find they all were brought up on a farm 

— they were, indeed! — 
That is, the great majority. Just look it up your- 
self; 
Compare the town, and country born in influence 

or pelf. 
That the Reubens are ambitious 

Is a fact that will not down; 
And we ought to be suspicious 

When the Reubens come to town. 



1 8 The Barnstormer s Companion 



HALEY, THE XLV-PLAYER 



Owen Haley was a man who loved to play a social 

game; 
He could beat old Hoyle himself at "forty-fives," 

and while the same 
Might imply that he was tricky or inclined to 

stack the cards, 
A squarer fellow never lifted lumber in the yards. 
Haley stood a trifle over six, and weighed two 

hundred pounds. 
And no one picked a fight with him on insufficient 

grounds. 
He would sooner play his favorite game of " forty- 
fives " than eat — 
Such a hearty player! — Riley said he always played 

to beat. 
But Riley's saying had another bearing, be it 

said, 
For Haley beat the table more than those with 

whom he played. 



Haley, the XL V-Player 19 

And it really was a fact, for every point that Haley 

scored, 
He would bring his knuckles down with such a 

noise upon the board 
That the neighbors would be startled, until some 

one passed the word: — 
"Sure it's only Haley playin' forty-fives." 



It was Haley's habit every night to lighten up the 
gloom 

With a friendly game or two in Jerry Donohue's 
back room. 

'Twas the custom of the boarders, and, I think, it 
still survives, 

To fight away their troubles in the game of "forty- 
fives." 

And when Haley was among them, all the bottles 
in the place 

Would dance upon the shelves, if he should hold 
the jack or ace. 

It was wonderful, the strength he had — it hap- 
pened, many a night. 



20 The Barnstormer's Companion 

That Murphy, the patrolman, would look in, sus- 
pecting fight, 

While Donohue would stop him with the explana- 
tion trite — 

"Sure it's only Haley playin' forty-fives." 



One day — 'twas in the summer — business hap- 
pened to be slack, 
Haley called his good friend Foley, and produced 

a greasy pack; 
And, finding a convenient spot upon a lumber 

pile, 
The two sat down to play a game to pass away 

the while. 
Such a time they had! — the cracking of their 

knuckles on the pine 
Was echoed back and forth for several yards 

along the line, — 
Until matters reached a crisis, it was Haley caused 

it all, 
For he gave a blow that shook the pile — that made 

it shift and fall. 



Haley, the XLV- Player 21 

They felt it going, tried to save themselves — but 
'twas too late — 

It caught them, and they narrowly escaped a fear- 
ful fate. 

As it was, their plight was bad enough, for when 
the two were found, 

They were lying stiff and senseless as the boards 
upon the ground. 

Strange to say, their fellow workmen heard the 
crash but never moved; 

Though one expressed concern, the rest with this 
remark reproved: — 

'Sure it's only Haley playin' forty-fives." 



22 The Barnstormer's Companion 



'♦THOSE OLD IRISH AIRS 



Come, Katie, alanna, tune up your piano 

And play off the songs that your father likes best. 

You've been practising there till you have me 

uneasy; 
Let's hear from Tom Moore — ^just byway of a rest. 
No doubt but your teacher has told you they're 

trashy 
And nothing but simple, old-fashioned affairs. 
That's all very well — but your father knows better; 
So just play a few of those old Irish airs. 

Ah ! Moore was the one that could measure his 

verses — 
A skilful mechanic — 'twas he knew his art; 
A thief of the world, with a wonderful latch-key, 
To open the door of an Irishman's heart. 
He never would knock and apply for admittance, 
But in he would creep and make off with your 

cares; 



" Those Old Tnsh Airs'' 23 

And well may his countrymen hold him in honor 
For putting such words to those old Irish airs. 



If it's hungry you are for a song sentimental, 
Just take up the list and look over the food; 
"The Last Rose of Summer," "The Vale of 

Avoca," 
" Believe Me" and others will answer your mood. 
If revengeful you feel at the wrongs of the Saxon, 
" Let Erin Remember" will soothe unawares, 
While the song of" The Minstrel" will speak your 

resentment 
And ring for all ages those old Irish airs. 



If to mirth you're inclined, or in need of diversion. 
Look over the feast and prepare for a laugh; — 
" Miss McLeod" has the floor and our dear "|Nora 

Creina" 
With "Tatter Jack Welsh" and gay "Larry 

O'Gaflf." 
Don't tell me there's naught to admire in such 

music — 



24 The Barnstormer' s Companion 

*Twas made for all times — you can see how it 

wears. 
Why, the blood rushes up to my cheek with the 

notes, 
And my heart beats the time to those old Irish 



In the war with the South, with my Irish com- 
panions, 

I've heard those airs played when the battle was 
nigh; 

And I've marked the wild look in their eyes as 
they listened, 

As if they were ready to fight then, and die. 

And when I lay wounded, and death hovered o'er 
me. 

The music would haunt me and mix in my prayers, 

And I wondered at times if the angels in heaven 

Had songs that could equal those old Irish airs. 



Don't tell me that music is simple or trashy, 
Which fills men with motives unselfish and high. 



" Those Old Irish Airs " 25 

There is not a bar in your fine compositions 

To make a man fight for a cause — though he die. 

And though that same cause may seem lost for the 

present, 
The loss only adds to the charm that it wears; 
For the hope smold'ring deep in an Irishman's 

bosom 
Will never die out while he hears those old airs. 



Then, Katie, alanna, play off the dear music, 
And please your old father, — if but for to-night, — 
For though it may not be at all to your liking. 
It's all in the taste — and we both may be right. 
Play off the dear measures that breathe of the 

shamrock. 
The moors and the mountains, the factions and 

fairs; — 
Though a tyrant has strangled a cause and a 

people, 
He never could smother those old Irish airs. 



26 The Barjistormers Companion 



MAGUIRE, THE SPECULATOR 



I remember well the day I got acquainted with 

Maguire: — 
'Twas at Kennedy's the broker — stocks were 

dropping, and the wire 
Sang a song of swift disaster in the Stock Ex- 
change below — 
A song which ran the gamut to the lowest notes of 

woe. 
As I stood and watched, with others there, the 

changes on the board. 
Comparing stocks and figuring the losses they had 

scored, 
I made a chance remark about "Confabulated 

Gas," 
(Some expression of my faith in it was what my 

lips let pass), 
Which remark was caught up eagerly by someone 

standing near, 
A gentleman whose face was drawn and white 

with nervous fear, 



Maguire, the Speculator' 27 

Who, foolishly, requested me to tell him all I 

knew 
About the stock in question. From his anxious- 

ness I drew 
The obvious conclusion (which was true enough, 

alas!) 
That my friend must be a holder of "Confabu- 
lated Gas:" 
So I reassured him, going far beyond the facts I 

knew, — 
I declared the stock would rally back within a 

week or two. 
And it did. Although at best I was an optimistic 

liar, 
My prediction won for me the admiration of 

Maguire, 



After that I saw him often, and wherever we 

might meet. 
Before the board at Kennedy's, or out upon the 

street, 
He would greet me somewhat stealthily, and never 

let me pass 



28 The Barnstorvier's Companion 

Without asking my opinion of "Confabulated 
Gas;"— 

Of its merits, and its prospects: Did I look for 
any rise? — 

Or, did I think it high enough? — or, what would I 
advise? 

It was plain to me that he was but a novice at the 
game, 

But novices are lucky — they arrive there just the 
same. 

I was curious to know why he elected to invest 

In a property so whimsical: Maguire to me con- 
fessed 

Thjt a friend of his, a man of wealth, "a man who 
ought to know," 

Had told him to secure some "Gas," and not to 
let it go. — 

That, while it might sell lower, it would pay him 
in the end. 

Maguire had every reason to believe his learned 
friend, 

So he got together all the little wealth at his com- 
mand 



Maguire, the Speculator 2g 

And bought a hundred shares of "Gas." He cer- 
tainly had sand. 
The price he paid was eighty, but it slumped 

away so quick 
Down to sixty and a trifle that it really made him 

sick. 
He began to have his doubts about the judj^ment 

of his friend, 
So, whenever prices showed a disposition to 

descend, 
Maguire wrould fear a panic, — he could scent it in 

the air. 
When the bears w^ere in the saddle (how Maguire 

did hate a bear!) 
Scenes of riot, wreck and ruin would before his 

vision pass, 
With a general explosion of "Confabulated Gas." 



For Maguire could never understand the attitude 

of bears; 
He couldn't grasp their function in the balance of 

affairs. 



30 The Barnstormer's Companion 

To him they were as highwaymen; — he thought it 

very strange 
That the governors permitted them to enter the 

Exchange. 
His views, you see, were personal, not broad nor 

over-deep, 
For his mind had not that general or philosophic 

sweep. 
"When Kennedy would tell him bears were useful 

in their way, — 
That, like the tail upon a kite, they had a part to 

play,— 
That, were it not for them, the stocks would sail 

up out of sight, 
Maguire would simply grunt and utter forth the 

hope they might. 
He didn't think it fair that "Gas" should get so 

many knocks; 
He thought that for a change the bears should raid 

the other stocks. 
Now this complaint betrayed in him another 

mental twist. 
For he never made comparisons with others on 

the list. 



Maguire, the Speculator 31 

He never kept account of them, — they were as 
lesser lights: 

The "Gas" (what else?) was Jupiter, the rest were 
satellites. 

Any weakness in the " Grangers" or the "Coal- 
ers" was as naught; 

To the Sugar and Tobacco stocks he never gave 
a thought. 

He could'nt view the market as a whole, or in the 
mass; 

When in search of information it was always, 
" How is Gas?" 

It used to weary me at times, it got to be a bore; 

I remember once when with a friend and passing 
by his store, 

He saw me and ran out, his little query to pre- 
sent: — 

"How is it?" "How is what?" said I, well know- 
ing what he meant. 

I admit that I was nettled, but he made me smile, 
alas! 

As with solemn face he sprung that same old 
question, "How is Gas?" 



32 The Barnstormer^ s Companion 

When a man becomes possessor of a hundred 
shares of stock, 

It is saddening to witness how his finer feelings 
rock, — 

How the springs of human sympathy are dried 
within his breast, — 

How every noble impulse is combated and re- 
pressed. 

I regret to say Maguire was no exception to the 
rule, — 

That his reason was enslaved, and of his selfish- 
ness the tool, 

Or he never would have argued (as he often did 
alas!) 

That nothing could be justified that interfered, 
with "Gas." 

Thus, when the Venezuela message staggered 
Johnny Bull, 

And reacted on the market, giving it a downward 
pull; 

Maguire, although an Irishman with all the term 
implies. 

Declared we had no right to interfere. He shut 
his eyes 



Maguire, the Speculator 33 

To everything but prices. When the Cubans 

sought our aid 
Maguire, although his sympathies were with them, 

was afraid 
That a serious disturbance in the market might 

ensue 
If we give them recognition: — so, 6i course, it 

wouldn't do. 
And when the silver champions obtained the 

upper hand 
In the Democratic party, — when, with Bryan in 

command, 
It seemed as if the Democrats had half a show to 

win. 
And the market sank to depths where it before 

had never been; 
Then was it civil war was waged within Maguire's 

breast, 
And his boasted straight Democracy subjected to 

a test. 
He declared to me that Bryan was the greatest man 

alive. 
But how could he vote for Bryan, with "Gas" at 

forty-five? 
How he voted, I was curious to know, but never 

learned. 
3 



34 The Barnstormer's Companion 

When the crisis had been weathered and the mar- 
ket upward turned, 

And Maguire was happy in his "Gas" — and 
didn't care to sell, 

I would rally him about his vote, but he would 
never tell. 

He was guarded in the matter, not the slightest 
clue he gave, 

And the secret of his choice lies buried with him 
in the grave. 



For Maguire is dead. — His soul, I hope, is now 

among the blest. 
Where the tickers cease from ticking, and the 

market is at rest; — 
Where all are long of Happiness, and short of 

Pain and Care. 
I also hope the time shall come when I may join 

him there; 
But I'm willing now to wager, if Saint Peter lets 

me pass. 
That Maguire will hail me at the gate and whisper, 

"How is Gas?" 



" The Dewey Boy" 35 



"THE DEWEY BOY" 

McKinley, of Ohio, was our spokesman at the 

time 
When ihe Spaniards sank the Maine, and seemed 

to glory in their crime. 
We wanted peace till that occurred, — 'twas blood 

we wanted then; 
So McKinley passed the word along to all our 

fighting men: 
"Get ready, boys, to let the old war eagle loose 

again, 
For the foreigner our fighting bird is scorning." 
Across the seas the message went to Dewey far 

away: 
"Get ready Dewey! Sail your ships into Manila 

Bay! 
Every vessel of the Spaniard you must capture or 

destroy; 
Let not a ship be left our western seaboard to 

annoy; 



36 The Barnstormer's Companion 

Be you the first to strike, and may the issue bring 
us joy, 
And speed our night of sorrow into morning." 



When the message got to Dewey, in the far-off 

China bay, — 
April, brushing aside her tears, was smiling into 

May. 
'Twas the time of yeai, as Dewey knew, when 

folks back in the States 
Were wont to change their residence, and so he 

hailed his mates. 
Saying, "Boys, it's near the first of May — the 

great occasion waits, 
And besides the owner here has given 'vrarning. 
The Navy people seem to think it's time ior us 

to move, 
(It is hoped the change will please us, and our 

general health improve.) 
They have ordered us to occupy a place across the 

way. 
Which has now a Spanish tenant — but he may not 

care to stay! 



" The Dewey Boy'" 37 

We shall call on him, however, and hear what he 
has to say; 
Let your anchors be uplifted in the morning." 



So they lifted up their anchors on the morrow, 

and they steamed 
Across the China Sea to where the Spaniard lay 

and dreamed. 
For three full days they journeyed on, and then 

the goal was nigh; 
But the hour was not auspicious, so they quietly 

lay by, 
While the stars like mice, came creeping forth to 

feast upon the sky, 
Till the solar cat should rout them at the dawn- 
ing. 
Manila Bay before them lay, — they stood without 

the gate, — 
Said Dewey, when he thought it time, "Well, boys, 

its growing late. 
And there's nothing to be gained by waiting out 

here any more; 



38 The Barnstormer' s Companion 

Let us all go in and register, and — I'll go on 
before, — 

And don't disturb the slumbers of the man that's 
tending door, — 
We can show him our credentials in the morn- 
ing." 

In single file, with Dewey at the head they started 

in, 
With every ship prepared for fight, and eager to 

begin. 
Stealthily, they sailed across the threshold of the 

Bay, 
Tardily the guns on shore awoke and bade them 

stay, 
But they had to reach Manila at tie breaking of 

the May, 
So they hurried on, the feeble challenge scorning. 
On through the darkness, up the Bay, went Dewey 

and his men. 
Carefully feeling their way along. A few more 

miles, and then 
The goal was reached. As silently as snow comes 

in the night, 



'* The Dewey Boy*' 39 

Surprising us at morn when we behold the land- 
scape white, 

So Dewey came upon the foe; — and woeful was 
the sight, 
When the Spaniard woke to view it in the 
morning. 

For the Spaniard wasn't ready: — in astonishment 

and rage 
He glared upon the Yankee — yet he hastened to 

engage; 
From fort and ship he volleyed forth an angry 

fusilade 
As the Yankee ships came steaming up as if upon 

parade; 
No answer did the latter make, they prudently 

delayed 
For a closer range, as Dewey gave the warning. 
With silent but impatient guns, they moved upon 

the foe, 
Until Dewey thought the distance right, and said, 

"Boys, let 'er go; 
Go at them now and eat them up, — the Eagle 

waits in pain, — 



40 The Barnstormer's Companion 

Remember, every shot must tell, and don't forget 

the Maine! 
They'll be printing new geographies when we get 

through with Spain — 
We will send the world to school again this 

morning." 

In chorus, then, the Yankee guns, with methods 

trained and true, 
Began to sing; and then it was, the Spanish 

splinters flew. 
Above the fleet the Eagle soared, an inspiration 

dear, 
Breasting his native element, the gun-smoked 

atmosphere ; 
While Dewey, death-directing, sped the shells on 

their career — 
Riddling, sinking, shattering, and burning. 
And the old war eagle flapped his wings and 

screamed out in delight 
" I've seen 'em all, but damme! how that Dewey 

boy can fight!" 
And fight he did, with energy, with coolness and 

with skill, 



*' The Dewey Boy " 41 

Till not a Spanish ship was left afloat to thwart 

his will, — 
Till our flag was floated proudly o'er Manila where 

it still, 
In its glory, is the first to greet the morning. 



When the present Yankee school-boy in his coun- 
try's hist'ry reads, 
He shall dwell, with just elation, on our many 

naval deeds. 
He shall read of Jones, who made us felt when 

struggling to be free, 
Of Decatur, Hull and Perry, that iconoclastic 

three. 
Who loved to fight and whip the self-styled ruler 

of the sea. 
Her claims to naval sovereignty scorning. 
He shall read of fearless Farragut, who, breasting 

shot and shell. 
Dashed up the Mississippi, and, triumphant, lived 

to tell; 
And, last of all (in point of time, but not in merit, 

—Nay!) 



42 The Barnstormer's Companion 

He shall read of him who woke them up in far 

Manila Bay, — 
He shall read of Dewey rising on the sea at break 

of day, 
And sweeping all before him with the morning. 



Evejybody, but Casey 43 



EVERYBODY, BUT CASEY 



There was trouble at the boarding-house, a week 
ago to-night, — 

An argument political, which ended in a fight. 

Mr. Foley is a silver man, unlimited and free; 

He talked to Mr. Casey of "the Crime of Seventy- 
three." 

Though his knowledge of the subject was de- 
cidedly diffuse, 

And though Casey took exception to a number of 
his views, 

There never would have been the slightest trouble 
in the case 

Had not Foley, making gestures, thrust his hand 
in Casey's face. 



Mr, Casey thought this more than he was called 

upon to stand; 
He dropped the argument at once, but quickly 

raised his hand. 



44 The Barnstormer's Companion 

And aiming straight for Foley's nose, let go with 
all his might, 

And with that the two went at it in a rough-and- 
tumble fight. 

When the boarders got between them, and a truce 

had been arranged, 
The general plan of Foley's face was noticeably 

changed. 
He shook his fist at Casey, threatened vengance 

deep and dire, 
And called on all the powers that be to further his 

desire. 



Thus they parted in their anger, but they met 

again that night 
At the Dutchman's on the corner, and, to show 

the world his spite, 
Foley threw a silver dollar on the bar with savage 

vim, 
And invited everybody there to have a drink with 

him — 
Everybody, but Casey. 



Everybody^ but Casey 45 

This proceeding had a tendency to start the 
strife anew; 

And the boarders who were present thought an- 
other fight was due. 

There were fifteen men who answered in response 
to Foley's call 

To drink; including Foley there were sixteen 
men in all. 

Said Casey as he counted heads: "It pleases me 
to know 

That Foley, when he treats, observes the proper 
ratio, 

And will buy the drinks for sixteen men to every- 
one that's barred. 

It's funny. But I hate to see him take the thing 

'^rl so hard; 

Sure I'm sixteen times as sorry as himself we ever 
fought." 

"Enough!" said Foley; "Let us make it seventeen 
to nought." 

So, with general approval, they their diflference 
did sink, 

And everybody stood in line before the bar to 
drink, 
Including Casey. 



46 The Barnstormer s Companion 



THE GREAT SECURITY 



Are you for stories? Here's one that I got 
From an old man; which opens up its plot 
In Ireland, in a fateful famine year. 
The story-teller's father, 'twould appear 
A prudent farmer, had put by a store 
From the abundance of the year before, 
Which he retailed among the peasantry 
Who, lacking cash, could give security. 

One day there came to him a stranger sad, 
A widow, with her son, both poorly clad; 
A sack of meal of him she did request, 
If he would trust ? The farmer acquiesced, 
Thinking the payment she could guarantee ; 
And asked who her security would be — 

"Security!" the woman echoed, awed; 
" Sure, I have no security but God." 
The farmer started — stammered — bowed his 
head: 



The Great Security 47 

" I couldn't ask a better one! " he said. 
** The meal is yours, good woman! Have it so; 
And though the price of it to me you owe, 
I'll take your word for it — I'm not afraid 
But God in His good time will see me paid." 

The woman thanked him, took the meal away; 
The farmer never saw her from that day. 
His wife, to whom he spoke of the affair, 
Who of the pennies took a closer care, 
Reproached him for his carelessness, for she 
Had not his faith or fine simplicity. 

A year rolled by, and then another one; 
No word came from the widow or her son. 
The wife now mado no effort to conceal 
Her doubts concerning payment for the meal. 
Many the hint she dropped of reckless waste. 
Of charity and confidence misplaced, 
To which her worthy man, with smile sedate, 
Would simply toss his head and bid her wait. 

At last — it must have been three years or more — 
There came one day a stranger to their door; 



48 The Barnstormed s Companion 

The farmer knew, as he his face did scan, 

It was the widow's son now grown a man. 

The youth recalled the meal that had been given, 

And said his mother, who was now in Heaven, 

Had made him promise by her dying cot, 

At the first opportunity he got, 

To pay their debt; — and he had said he would; 

He now had come to make that promise good. 

The farmer smiled, and raised his hands in praise, 
Looked at his wife who blushed beneath his gaze : 
"Ah, woman!" said he, "Now you must admit 
That I was right, for here's the proof of it. 
I always said that debt could not be bad, 
For see the great security I had! '' 



Willful Willie 49 



WILLFUL WILLIE 



At a table, in a cottage, sat a family of three — 
Father, mother, and a son — and they were doomed 

to disagree. 
'Twas Thanksgiving, and the youth declared that 

he was nearly starved. 
As with hungry eyes he gazed upon the turkey 

being carved, 
But the old man took his time, and when the job 

was neatly done. 
He reserved the breast and wing, and passed the 

leg unto his son. 
'Twas at this the son grew angry, and at once 

began to bawl — 
If he couldn't have the breast or wing, he wouldn't 

eat at all. 

Now the father was a man who never took the 

slightest sauce — 
(Though it goes well with a turkey) he would 

show that he was boss; 
4 



50 The Barnstorjner's Companion 

In a manner terrorizing he held up the carving 
knife, 

Saying, "Willie, never speak like that again in 
all your life! " 

But dear Willie didn't weaken for a little: — he 
arose. 

Left the table and the room, and donned his Sun- 
day suit of clothes; 

Then walked out into the cold world, slamming 
hard the big front door; 

And the father and the mother never saw their 
Willie more! 



Oh! the watching and the waiting for their boy to 

reappear! 
Days expanded into months, and soon the months 

became a year. 
Still no tidings of the absent — not a letter, not a 

word — 
Though the father searched and questioned, not 

the slightest news was heard. 
When Thanksgiving came, they sat before the 

table in despair. 



Willful Willie 51 

And their eyes were blurred with tears, as they 

beheld the vacant chair. 
Very little did they eat, and very little did they 

say, 
For their thoughts were with the prodigal — with 

Willie far away. 



Soon the mother's hair grew silvered, and the 

father's step grew slow, 
Worn with restlessness they faded — sinking 

'neath the cruel blow. 
Still they never gave up hoping that their boy 

might yet appear ; 
And the fire of hope kept burning for another 

anxious year. 
When Thanksgiving time drew nigh they advei- 

tised for him to come — 
Published messages imploring him to turn his 

steps to home. 
Every paper had a personal, the hardest heart to 

wring, 
Saying, " Willie, dear, come back, and you may 

have the breast and wing." 



52 The Barnstormer's Companion 

And what became of Willie, when he left his 

father's roof? 
Ah! sad to tell, he ne'er did well — from work he 

held aloof, 
And eked a mean existence, Hying like a common 

tramp — 
To a free lunch fiend he dwindled, of the most 

obnoxious stamp. 
Drifting to the great metropolis, he shifted to 

and fro 
With the tide of poor unfortunates who do not 

reap or sow. 
There were times when he was hungry — turned 

upon the streets to beg. 
He wanted then no breast nor wing — his kingdom 

for a leg ! 



Yet he never thought of turning to the anxious 

ones at home — 
They should never know his struggles ; he had 

left, and he would roam 
Over all the wild creation, and he never would 

return — 



Willful Willie 53 

Be dependent on his father for the food he did not 

earn. 
Thus he fought the years in silence, till one day he 

chanced to read, 
In a paper laid as table cloth beneath a free lunch 

feed, 
Words that rocked his resolution, opened up 

emotion's spring — 
They were, " Willie, dear, come back, and you 

may have the breast and wing." 



In a moment he decided to put pride upon the 
shelf, 

For he knew those words were printed for none 
other than himself. 

Back he started for the homestead, like the prodi- 
gal, but Fate 

Was not half so kind to Willie, for he came — 
alas — too late ! 

Ah ! the sheet he read the message in was printed 
long before. 

And his parents worn with waiting, had crossed 
to the golden shore. 



54 The Barnstormer^ s Companion 

Willie sickened when he heard the news — they 

buried him in spring ! 
Let us hope he is an angel now, and doesn't lack 

a wing. 



t 



-«.a^ 



Murphy and the Minuet 55 



MURPHY AND THE MINUET 



" Bad scran to it," said Murphy, with his collar 

wringing- wet; 
" May the divil dance with him who introduced 

the minuet. 
I can paralyze the polka, trip the waltz without a 

break, 
But the minuet it beats me — that it does — it wins 

the cake. 
Sure the muscles of me legs are cramped, and 

keep contracting yet, 
Just from standing stiff upon the floor to walk the 

minuet. 



Did you say you never danced it? Sure, it's not 

a dance at all : 
You move, of course, — they keep you gawking up 

and down the hall. 
The music plays a funeral march, you take the 

lady's hand, 



56 The Barnstormer's Companion 

Then up you go and down you go, then bow, and 

scrape, and stand. 
The ladies lift their skirts as though afraid they 

might get wet, 
And the men step out like ganders when they 

walk the minuet. 



I'm told the dance is English, yes, it's English, 

don't you know? 
If you didn't, you'd surmise it, it's so deuced, 

bloomin' slow. 
And it's not because it's English I dislike it, if 

you please, 
It's the stiffness — sure you have no use for hinges 

in your knees, 
Yet the ladies think it beautiful, and all of them 

are set 
On dancing nothing else at all but the stately 

minuet. 



Still it's not the step that tires you when you start 
to walk the chalk. 



Murphy and the Minuet 57 

It's the consciousness, the feeling that you're 

posing like a gawk. 
And every time you raise the left and balance on 

the right, 
Your feet become obnoxious and you wish them 

out of sight. 
I will not be a Romeo to any Juliet 
Who looks for me to lead her out to dance the 

minuet." 



H 



58 The Barnstormer' s Companion 



THE PAGEVILLE BAND 



When music cheering arrests my hearing, 

I often think of the Pageville Band, — 
Of their selections — their tone-confections, — 

Their swift dissections of the theme in hand. 
When Gilmore thundered with half a hundred, 

I sat and wondered was it half so grand, 
As my memory traveled 
To the strains unraveled 

By the eager efforts of the Pageville Band. 



I've heard renditions of good musicians, 

The coalitions of their finest notes; 
With Cappa, Doring and Sousa pouring 

Harmonious offerings from brazen throats; 
But 'mid their pealing, there came a feeling — 

A thought congealing the music grand, 
As my mind reverted 
To the disconcerted — 

To the wild outpourings of the Pageville Band. 



The Pageville Band 59 

With what affection my recollection 

Calls them before me!— 1 see them pass!— 
That aggregation— that combination— 

That fermentation of wind and brass! 
Like the blithe canary, their time might vary, 

Yet they spoke a message all could understand, 
And a Wagner lover 
Would, no doubt, discover 

Sympathetic methods in the Pageville Band. 

There's a band in Hoosick that murders music:— 

The bass-drummer smites with a red right hand, 

While the trombone smothers his weaker brothers, 

And stabs his neighbor at each expand. 
'Mid such destruction and breezy ruction. 
Fearless, unmoved, unscathed, I stand. 
For I was hardened 
By the sins unpardoned 

That were shrieked to Heaven by the Pageville 
Band. 



6o The Barnstormers Companion 



TYPO McSETTERS 



Typo McSetters, of the Daily Lance, 

Awoke one night out of a mixed-ale trance, 

And turning saw at an adjacent frame. 

Shadowy, but apparent just the same, 

An angel working with a golden stick. 

Typo was paralyzed, but rallying quick. 

He cried: "What settest thou?" The angel turned. 

As if the speaker bold he would have spurned. 

He coldly, proudly spake: "I set," said he, 

"The names of those at Mrs. Astor's tea." 

* 'And is mine one?" "No!" said the angel, vexed, 

"Set 'em up again," said Mac, "and mine is 

mixed." 
The angel vanished through the doorway dim; 
And Mac said he went out to look for him. 
Next day The Lance had a Police Digest, 
And lo! McSetters' name led all the rest. 



^ 



To a Tin Can 6 1 



TO A TIN CAN 



Thou still unrinsed food of William goats! 

Thou fostered child of high protection chiefs! 
Improvised growler, out of whose mouth floats 

The well-mixed ale that drowns the Hobo's 
griefs! 
What fruits are pictured round thy torrid zone! 

Where is the Jumbo peach this represents? 
In Jersey or the dales of Delaware? 
What purple grapes! and gracious! what a pear! 
Colossal! — Surely these fruits must have grown 

On trees we see in California prints! 

Real fruit is large, but pictured fruit is huge! 

There are no limits to a painter's brush 
Debased, and partner to a subterfuge 

To sell an enterprising canner's slush. 
Great Pear, I shall preserve thee as a fake! 

Soft Peach, thy downy cheek shall ever bloom! 
Those purple grapes shall cluster 'round thy brow. 
Discarded Tin — and Father Time shall make 
Of thee a ferrule for his scythe — and thou 

Shalt rise above the general caprid doom! 



62 The BarnSiOrmers Companion 



VALEDICTORY 



Go, little hobo of a book, 

Endeavor to exist. 
Let not thy name too soon adorn 

The mortuary list. 

I would not have thee live alvvay; 

A season shall suffice, 
If in that season thou shouldst make 

Incision in the ice. 

Live, then, a season, as a flower: 

To that, I liken thee; 
Suspecting I have not the power 

To germinate a tree. 

Aye, like a flower, comport thyself:- 
Yet, do not blush unseen, 

Though springing in the desert air 
Without the Magazine; 



Valedictory 63 

But ope thy leaves, and strive to scent 

The circumfluent air. 
Haply some wight may pluck thee 

For his passing boutonierre, — 



May pluck, and wear thee for a day, 

As beautiful pro tem. — 
Better be worn and cast away 

Than wither on the stem. 



Go, little book, and sail the seas 
Where prouder ships have sunk,— 

Where storms abide, and every tide 
Flows fast to the Isle of Junk. 



Go, little book, pursue thyself, 
Go forth, I care not where, — 

To Hades, if thou wilt, and say 
That Richard sent thee there. 



64 The Barnstormer' s Companion 

Go, little book, — but thou art gone. 

Well — if thou shouldst return. 
My fire poetic still shall glow, 

For I'll have books to burn. 



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